


the sun must set to rise

by ivorykeys09



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Adoption, Alternative Universe - No Island, Established Relationship, F/M, I'll add more tags as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-15 06:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorykeys09/pseuds/ivorykeys09
Summary: SUMMARY: After her coffee machine breaks unexpectedly, Felicity doesn't expect any more surprises in her very busy day. But then she gets a visit from the Los Angeles Children’s Bureau.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I don't have enough WIPs... (insert crying emoji)
> 
> I started this about a year ago and I figured it was finally time to post it. It's another random idea that I couldn't shake. I love writing this couple and still plan to do so...even after the show ends. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

.

.

Gerry’s smiling face is the first thing Felicity sees when the elevator doors open, but the coffee in his hands easily distracts her attention.

“You are a godsend,” she practically coos at him, happily accepting the cup he offers her. She takes a step outside the elevator and pauses to savor a sip. Out of all her (many) superpowers, walking in heels while sipping coffee is one of her proudest and _most_ mastered. But even she can recognize it is too damn early to attempt her walk-and-sip method, as the white silk blouse she’d chosen this morning is practically _beckoning_ for a stain. Really, it’s only a matter of time a lipstick smudge or salad dressing ends up on it. (But it’s not _her_ fault it looks amazing with her new leather pencil skirt.)

She steals a second sip before making the journey to her office and uses the time to scan the hallway and greeting area her assistant oversees. It’s become an unconscious habit of her’s, surveying her surroundings. She doesn’t know when it started—certainly after she met Oliver, as he notices every little thing—but it’s one she can’t shake.

Overnight the flowers have changed from lilies to ranunculus, the pitcher has switched from lemon water to cucumber, and Gerry has gotten a haircut. She acknowledges that first.

“Nice haircut.”

It’s such a minor, casual thing to say, but the way his face transforms from surprise to embarrassment to appreciation makes it clear how rarely he gets complimented.

She needs to get better at that.

Cheeks red, he stammers out, “Oh, thank you.”

She smiles back and replies, “You’re welcome,” and heads to her office, barely giving the woman sitting in the waiting area a thought.

“So, what’s the forecast today?” she asks, taking a seat and flicking on her computer.

He looks down at his folio. “Busy. Back to back meetings until noon, lunch with the board, then an interview for the open PR position at three. Nelson will be here at four o’clock sharp to pick you up.” She opens her mouth, about to ask why, when he reminds her. “Hospital gala this evening.”

“Right. I knew that.” And she _did_. She’d talked about it with Oliver this morning. But then she’d discovered their coffee machine had broken and every thought in her mind had evaporated.

Prompted by the screen in front of her, she types in her password and thinks about tonight’s outfit. Her dress is emerald green, silk, and fits her like a glove. And she’d chosen killer heels, too—ones that make her legs look insane and Oliver go crazy.  

Gerry clears his throat and stutters, “I’m sure you’ll look lovely.”

Frack. “Sorry, I thought that was—”

“In your head, yes, I know,” he finishes easily, well used to it by now. “I’ll bring in your first appointment.”

He was right—the day is busy. So crammed with meetings that she barely has a moment to check Twitter, let alone respond to any of her hundreds of emails. A headache begins brewing sometime during lunch, thanks to Rick Daly, her least favorite board member, and it morphs into a raging migraine by the time three o’clock rolls around. She wishes she could cancel her afternoon interview, but she knows she can’t. With the new microprocessor about to hit the market, Smoak Tech severely needs a new head of PR.

Gerry inconspicuously hands her some Advil when he brings in the candidate, and while she knows it’s impossible, her head aches a little less the second she swallows the pills. She lets out a breath, finally feeling like her head's clear for the first time in hours.

Once Gerry’s gone, she studies the woman in front of her. Warm smile, even warmer brown eyes, naturally tan skin. She looks effortlessly cool in slate culotte pants and a white knit sweater.  Mid-forties, she guesses, even though she has a wild mane of curly silver-gray hair. That fact alone has Felicity wanting to immediately give her the job: only a totally confident, completely authentic person would choose to go gray that young, and those two qualities alone are what she wants in the person in charge of her company’s image.

She flashes a smile and offers her hand. “Maude Fallon? Felicity Smoak. Thank you so much for coming in.”

.

.

Maude nails the interview, easily, and happily accepts the position on the spot. When she leaves, Felicity fist-pumps the air, feeling accomplished for the first time all day. Since the interview ended early, she even has fifteen minutes to check her email before Nelson arrives to pick her up.

Scratch that—until _Oliver_ picks her up. She smiles happily at his text that just came through. They’d barely talked this morning, thanks to the coffee debacle and her early meetings, so she’s thrilled about the change in plan.

After shooting one last note to HR about Maude, she grabs her purse and coat, and goes to wave goodbye to Gerry, only to pause when she sees him speaking with someone outside her office.

She looks to him, silently questioning what’s up, then looks back at the guest. Then it hits her.

She smacks her forehead. “Oh no, is there another interview?” It’s been a crazy day, so it’s possible she has a second interview that she’s totally forgetting about. “This is so rude and, honestly, unfair that I did this, but I literally just filled the position twenty minutes ago. I’m so sorry I didn’t wait until I spoke with all the candidates—”

Gerry starts, “No, she’s not—”

The woman cuts him off. “Ms. Smoak, I’m Linda Edgemont.”

Felicity cocks her head to the side and wonders aloud, “Wait, were you the one here at eight o’clock this morning? When I came in?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “Ms. Smoak, I work for the Los Angeles Children’s Bureau of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.”

Felicity’s spine straightens, her attention officially caught. She doesn’t know why, but fear webs through her veins, and the feeling is enough to stunt any response.

The woman continues, “I understand your schedule is very busy and you’re on your way out, but I’m afraid the matter is quite urgent.” Linda shifts on her feet, eyes darting over to Jerry with annoyance. Clearly her assistant had successfully fought her off all day.

Felicity swallows thickly and nods. “Of course.” She points towards her office and follows Linda inside, shutting the door quietly behind them and mindlessly dropping her coat and purse on the floor. They both take a seat at her sitting area. About a thousand questions are firing through her brain and she doesn’t know which one to ask first. Children’s Bureau? The only child she knows is Sara. Oh my god—

“Is this about Sara Diggle? Did something happen to Lyla or John?” She’s halfway back to her purse, on her way to grab her cell, when she remembers a key detail and stops. “Wait. But you’re from LA, so that doesn’t make sense.” She still grabs her phone, but forces herself to walk back to the chairs before calling anyone.

Linda clears her throat, her patience clearly waning. “No, this is not about Sara Diggle. If you could please sit down, Ms. Smoak, I’ll explain why I’m here.” It’s not a request, and while Felicity would usually be put off by the order—especially in _her_ office—it’s clear the situation is serious.

“Of course,” she murmurs, sinking back down in the chair. Out of habit, she twists her engagement ring, giving her fingers something to do.

“Noah Cuttler is your father, correct?”

Yet again, Felicity is shocked silent. She hasn’t heard that name, let alone _thought_ about that name, in years. “Yes, he is,” she answers warily.

“And I understand your parents separated when you were quite young?”

“Yes, he left when I was five. I’m sorry, how is this relevant?”

Linda ignores her. “Were you aware your father remarried?”

Okay, now _she’s_ losing patience. “No, but—”

“Or that he fathered another child?”

The woman’s words don’t even register. “Linda, back up—”

“Your father remarried a few years ago,” she continues, reading from the papers in her hands. “Her name was Jennifer Neff.”

Felicity’s head is spinning, but she still notes the change in tense. “Wait… _‘was’_?”

Linda’s face softens for the first time in their conversation, and when she removes her glasses Felicity steels herself for what’s coming.

“I’m afraid your father and Jennifer were killed earlier this week in an automobile accident.”

Felicity closes her eyes at the impact, the words knocking the wind right out of her lungs. Her hands grasp the edge of the chair, nails digging into the velvet fabric, as she struggles to find center. Her father had reappeared and subsequently been eradicated yet again all in a span of a minute, and the feeling is enough to give her whiplash. The only other instance her breath had been so violently taken was that time she’d slipped off the diving board in sixth grade and landed on her back in the pool with a _smack._

She barely hears Linda’s next words, but they still prompt her to open her eyes.

“I know this must be difficult to take in. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this news.”

Felicity shakes her head and assures, “No, it’s okay,” as she runs a shaky hand through her hair. Because it is, for the most part, okay. Her father has not been a part of her life for over twenty years. This news doesn’t mean the same as it would if it were about her mother, which—she takes a deep breath—she can’t even _imagine_ right now. And while somewhere in the back of her mind she knows this’ll probably all come back to wreak havoc on her psyche in the near future, she can deal with it now. So she takes another breath and goes into business mode.

Linda catches on. “As I mentioned earlier, your father and Jennifer had a daughter.”  

“No you di—wait, what?” Because when did she mention that?

Linda looks at her cautiously. “Did you not hear me earlier?”

“No, I...I guess I didn’t.”

Linda places her glasses back on. “That’s why I’m here. Both Jennifer and your father’s parents are deceased, and each are only children. You’re next of kin.” She looks to the papers in her lap. “Furthermore, the day she was born your father updated his will. It requested that in the event both he and Jennifer died, the child would go to you.”

Felicity’s phone begins to vibrate, but she ignores it.

“That doesn’t make sense. I haven’t seen my father in years. I haven’t _talked_ to my father in years. Two decades, to be precise. Not since I was a child myself.”

“So you’re refusing to assume guardianship? If that is the case the girl will be taken in by child services, until we can find her a more permanent placement.”

“Yes, no—wait.” Felicity forces herself to breathe. “Linda, you’re throwing a _lot_ of information at me; things I’m barely able to _begin_ to process. I’m not saying yes and I’m not saying no.”

Her phone rings (again) and she ignores it (again), and instead walks over to the mini-fridge by the door for a bottle of water. The cold drink barely does anything to cool her down.

She goes through the last few minutes in her mind.

Her father remarried. Her father died. His wife died. They had a daughter. And she’d been elected guardianship of that daughter in the event anything should happen to them.

Which is now. It’s happening.

Holy. Frack.

She hears a knock on the door, light but insistent, and doesn’t get a chance to answer before it opens. The only person who would do that—or who she’d _let_ do that—is Oliver.

Just the fact that he’s here makes her feel better, even though he has no fucking clue what has just rocked her world.

 _Their_ world.

He looks very relieved at the sight of her, but his blue eyes are still laced with concern. She watches him scan the room and take in her guest, before studying her again to search for any clue she can offer him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but when you didn’t answer my calls…”

Felicity forgets about the other woman for a moment and walks over to him. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I just—” She looks down at her watch and notices the time. Only fifteen minutes has gone by since Linda came into her office, which is truly _wild_ because it feels like hours have passed. And although they technically still have time to get ready and attend the gala, there’s no chance they’re going.

She steps around Oliver, ignores his questioning gaze, and exits her office to walk over to Gerry’s desk. She doesn’t give him much detail, but just asks him to send a large donation to the hospital in lieu of their absence this evening, and then tells him he can head home for the night.

Once she’s back in her office, she makes quick introductions. “Linda, this is my fiancé, Oliver Queen. Oliver, this is Linda.”

He nods politely in Linda’s direction, before turning back to her. “Felicity…”

“Linda, can you excuse us for a moment?” She doesn’t wait for approval and takes Oliver’s hand, dragging him out of her office. She doesn’t stop until they reach the women’s bathroom, and is relieved to see all of the stalls are empty. She lets go of his hand and locks the door behind them.

He says her name again, his soft tone so full of love and worry that she feels herself begin to crack.

She paces for a moment instead, and runs a hand through her hair. She’s so on edge and for some reason her curls are annoying her, so she pulls them up in a messy bun as she continues to stall.

He just patiently leans back against the row of sinks and waits for her to be ready.

“We’re not going to the gala.”

“Okay,” he says, accepting that without any further explanation.

For that, and because she didn’t earlier, she walks over and kisses him softly, needing the feel of his lips to ground her for a moment. Before she can pull away, he keeps her there and presses another to her forehead. It’s exactly what she needs to tell him this next part: “My, no— _our_ —life just got very complicated, mister.”

“Okay.”

She backs away and leans against the wall opposite him, in between one of the stalls. She instantly regrets choosing this location for this conversation, but...whatever. They’re here.

“My dad died.” He starts a little at her words, as if he wants to close the distance between them, but ends up staying put as she continues, “And so did his wife. He, uh, remarried?” She doesn’t know why it comes out as a question, but she’s guessing it’s because it hasn’t yet sunk in.

His eyes look _pained_ , as if he wants to somehow physically take some of the hurt away from her. “I’m so sorry, Felicity.”

“It’s okay,” she promises.

He shakes his head, but doesn’t press further. Oliver is aware of her history with her father, but she also can guess what he’s thinking: he knows more than anyone that no matter how complicated the relationship, losing a parent is still _losing a parent._

“Really, I’m...okay. I’ve never assumed we’d have a relationship again. So this doesn’t really affect me at all. It doesn’t change anything.”

She can see him struggle to accept that reasoning, but doesn’t push her. “Is Linda his lawyer?”

“No. She’s from the Los Angeles Children’s Bureau. Social Services.”

Not expecting that, he crosses his arms in confusion, brows furrowing in that crinkly face way she loves, and silently tries to connect the dots. She helps him.

“Apparently they have a daughter...and my dad requested to put her in my care in the event he and Jennifer—that’s his wife—died. There’s no one else.”

A few beats of silence pass and she uses it to discern the emotions that transform his face. After their many years together—working and in love—she’s very good at reading him. Like her coffee-in-heels superpower, another skill of hers is being able to decipher what he’s feeling at any given moment. Especially when those feelings have to do with _her_. He’s one of those people that has the most convincing poker face to anyone else, but when she’s in the room or on his mind, he’s hopelessly transparent.

So she watches as he switches from shock to empathy to—she bites back a smirk—a little fear, before he lands on—wait—awe?

Before she can ask, he takes a step forward and reaches for her hands. His eyes are so warm, so piercing, so bluer than the sea, and she fights the urge to drown in them. The only other person he looks at this way is Thea—and under the circumstances, she’s not sure why.

“You have a sister?”

_Oh._

Her breath catches.

That’s why.

“I...I guess I do.” It’s crazy she hasn’t thought of it that way until now. But now that he’s said it...yes. If they have the same father, the child is her half-sister.

Woah.

Either seconds or minutes pass as that sinks in, and she spends them focusing and unfocusing on the marble floor below them. Then she looks up at him.

“Oliver...what do I do?”

Warm hands circle around her back as he draws her into his chest. “Well, I think we need to go back and talk with Linda.”

She just nods, rubbing her face against his shirt.

“Do you know how old the girl is?”

“No idea. We didn’t get that far.” She’s glad her face is hidden in his neck, so he can’t see her cheeks redden with guilt. “My mind sort of went haywire before I could ask any questions. I’m the worst...uh, big sister.”

What even.

His chest rumbles with laughter, breaking the tension for a second. “No, you’re not. You’ve just been delivered some staggering news; it’s understandable why you were more than a little flustered. You are the opposite of the worst.” He palms each side of her face and tilts her head up so they can lock eyes, hoping it’ll help drive his words home.

She rubs her lips together to hide her smirk, charmed by him even under the circumstances. “No, you are,” she admits softly, then pulls him down for a kiss.

They stay there for a long minute, savoring the last moments of them _,_ before joining hands and making their way back to her office.

Right before they turn the final corner, where they’d be in Linda’s sight, he stops them and pulls her into another hug. It’s just what she needs before the next conversation they’re about to have—just a tiny boost of confidence mixed with _everything will be okay._

She shivers when she feels his lips skim her ear, a weak spot no matter what.

His voice is soft and only for her when he murmurs, “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. We’ll figure it out, one step at a time. But the only thing I’ll say is this: the fact that Thea and I only share a mother by blood is irrelevant. Half, step, or whole, this girl is your sister. And no matter how terrible your father was to you or your mother, this girl is not him.”  

The truth in his statement bring instant tears to her eyes. She is a woman of (too) many words, and he is one of very few. Yet in these moments, when she can’t string together a thought or response to save a life, he swoops in and somehow pieces together all that needs to be said.

Feeling so touched by his reverence and unequivocal belief in her, she kisses him once more, then leads him into her office.

She doesn’t know if the girl is three days or eight years old. She doesn’t know how to juggle being CEO and a PTA parent, or how Oliver will be “dad” and mayor. She doesn’t know if he really wants to do this. She doesn’t even know if _she_ wants to do this.

The only thing she does know is this: they’re about to become her sister’s guardians.

.

.

.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I'm so humbled by the wonderful response to this story. I hope you like this next chapter!

.

.

.

Things move quickly.

Linda had come to the office prepared for either scenario, so once they tell her their decision, she pulls out a stack of paperwork for them to sign. They’d also called down Smoak Tech’s lawyer, Maria Sanchez, to look over everything. When they’d explained the thirty-second version of the situation, her eyes had widened with surprise, then immediately turned all business. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Which is awesome, because although Felicity is looking at the paragraphs of words in front of her, it’s hard to actually concentrate on what they actually mean. There is too much going through her mind. Mainly, one thing: “Where is she?”

Linda gathers up the signed paperwork that officially deems them guardians. “She’s still in LA. Once we finish this up, I’ll call my associate, who’s at the hospital with her, so we can arrange to travel her here.”

Felicity grabs Oliver’s hand unconsciously. “Hospital?!” they both say in unison, taken aback. How was this not the first thing they’d been told?

Felicity continues, “I didn’t think… was she in the accident too?”

Linda nods. “She was, but she’s okay,” she answers, sounding earnest enough to put them at ease. “She’s very, very lucky. The crash was directly to the front of the car, so your father and his wife died upon impact. But Hazel’s car seat—and the airbags—saved her. She only received a few stitches on her arms and cheek from glass shards, but other than that, she’s totally fine. All of the tests checked out perfectly normal.”

“Hazel? That’s her name?”

“Oh, yes. Did I not mention that before? Her name is Hazel Megan Cuttler.”

At their shared middle name, she feels Oliver squeeze her hand. “And how old is she?” he asks.

It’s the question she’s been the most afraid to ask, so she’s glad he does. No matter her age, it’ll be a lot to take on overnight, but she thinks anything _older_ than a newborn will set them up for the most success.

“Almost two. Twenty months.”

“Oh,” Felicity says, letting out a breath. The relief she’d expected to feel knowing it’s not an infant never comes. If anything, she feels her heart break, because, “She’s so little.”

Linda gives them a sad smile. “She’s very, very sweet. It won’t be hard for you to fall in love with her.”

Oliver looks at his watch. “Well, what should we do first? How quickly can she get here? We have a plane, we can fly there tonight.”

Linda shakes her head. “I appreciate the offer Mr. Queen, but we’ll handle getting her here. Besides, I have a feeling you have a lot to do to get ready for her,” she says, giving them a knowing, sympathetic smile. “I’ll call you in a bit, but you should expect her sometime tomorrow morning.”

The next few hours go by in a daze.

They make a lot of phone calls from the car. Until they have Hazel under their roof, they’re going to keep the news and details mostly private. But they do tell enough people in their inner circle, though, knowing they won’t be able to get away with having a toddler move in without any explanation.

As Oliver calls John, she makes her first phone call to Ray Palmer. She doesn’t know what the next few days, or months, or _years_ look like… but she does know she needs to be home for the time being. “Felicity!” Ray answers, sounding happy to hear from her. “It’s been awhile.”

“It has,” she nods, looking out the window at the setting sun. “Listen, I’m sorry to call so late and cut to the chase, but I need your help.”

“Of course, anything,” he answers, and he must leave whatever room he’s in, because the background noise dims. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. I can’t get into all the details, but I’m going to be taking a bit of a...sabbatical from work for a private matter. I’m not sure how long it’ll be, but at least a few weeks. Last time we saw each other, you were still figuring out what your next move was. Any chance your schedule is still open?”

Ray laughs through the phone. “Funny you should mention that. I was just about to shake some hands and accept a new position for a company in Boston.”

“Oh, well nevermi—”

“So you caught me at the perfect time,” he finishes smoothly. “I can be in Starling tomorrow, does that work?”

Her eyes close, overwhelmed by the rush of gratitude she feels. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I owe you more than a few favors. I’ll call Gerry and get the latest.” His voice softens. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re going through, but I do know you’re not one to step away for no small reason. I’ll take it from here, until you’re ready to come back, okay?”

“Thank you, Ray.”

After saying goodbye, she hangs up and lets out a deep breath, feeling slightly more ready to take on what comes next. She doesn’t really know daily life without office visits—she’s been working some type of job since high school, and Smoak Tech is busier than it’s ever been—but she knows this is the right decision, at least for the foreseeable future. It also makes it easier to step away when she knows her company is in good hands.

Taking another moment before she calls her mom, she looks over at her fiancé to silently check in on him. She’d vaguely noticed his call with Dig end while she was talking to Ray, but doesn’t know who he’s on with now. It becomes obvious within seconds, because he pulls the phone a few inches away from his ear, far from the high-pitched voice sounding through the speaker. She can’t exactly decipher what is being said, but Thea at least sounds excited.

Chuckling, she dials her mom and closes her eyes, leaning her head back to rest against the seat.

“Hi honey bunny!”

She smiles. “Hey, mom.”

“Felicity, what’s wrong?”

Is that a thing she’ll learn? That all-knowing “mom radar” that can figure out when something is wrong or off or different, from just a few words?

“Mom radar?” Donna’s voice asks, sounding confused. “What are you talking about?”

 _Frak._ “I said that out loud, didn’t I,” Felicity sighs.

It’s silent for a moment, and the words must sink in, because Donna suddenly sucks in a breath. “Honey, are you pregnant?”

“No, I’m not pregnant,” she answers, smirking when she hears Oliver pause in his conversation to Thea at her words.

She continues, “But I do have some news. Are you sitting down?”

“Baby, you’re scaring me.”

“No, everything’s fine. I’m not pregnant, but we are, sort of… adopting a child. Or, at least, becoming guardians of one. My half-sister.”

_“What?!”_

.

.

By the time she gets off the phone—after a long conversation that involved tears from both of them—she feels utterly exhausted. Physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted.

Her mother had been just as shaken by Noah’s death as she was, if not more. She’d long moved on from him, but still felt shocked by the news—and the fact that he remarried and had another daughter. It was at that point in the conversation that her motherly instincts had kicked in, since she immediately agreed with what was happening. “Well, of course you have to take her in. Where else would she go, CPS?”

And it was in that moment, that Felicity had finally started to cry.

“Oh, sweetheart. Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset. I’m just relieved. You think we can do this, right mom?”

“Felicity, this may not be happening in the way you thought it would, but you’re the best option that little girl has. And I don’t need to tell you that Oliver will be incredible, too."

Remembering her mother’s words, she opens her eyes and looks over to the man in question. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, which he must have loosened in the time they left her office, and his sleeves are rolled up casually. He’s wearing one of her favorite shirts—the one he was wearing when he’d proposed.

(He’d asked her in their kitchen, as they were taking a break from washing dishes and slow-dancing to some music. Jazz had been playing on the living room speakers, and he’d just whispered the question in her ear, like a prayer. Her hands had still been soapy and wet when he’d slipped the ring on her finger, and she’d laugh-cried as he wiped her hand on his shirt to dry it off. It was her favorite night, ever.)

At the reminder, she looks down at _his_ fingers, quietly tapping away at something on his phone, and imagines what it’ll look like when a wedding ring is on his left hand. Heat curls within her. It can’t come soon enough.

She scoots closer to him, unable to help herself, and it’s only then does she realize that they’re not moving anymore. Out his window she can see they’re parked in an empty lot.

He lays his phone on his lap and wraps his arm around her, looking down with a tender smile. “Where are we?” she asks, tilting to rest her nose against his shoulder to breathe him in. It instantly relaxes her.

“Target.”

Not expecting that, she sits up and turns to look out the opposite window.

“Oh,” is she all says, feeling him kiss her temple. He’s brought them to one a few towns over from Star City, and she’s thankful for it. With him being mayor, there are constant eyes on them. They just need to get through the next few hours under the radar.

Minutes later, they step inside the mostly empty store, immediately stopping in front of the hand-baskets and shopping carts to decide between the two.

The silence is deafening: they have literally _nothing_ for a child.

Oliver wordlessly grabs one of the large carts with one hand and takes hers with his other. Nerves must be radiating off of her, because he just gives her palm a confident squeeze.

The baby section is in the back corner, and when they arrive in front of it, they barely know where to start. There are strollers and gear down one large aisle, clothes spread out in the open area across from them, and rows of everything else fanning from all sides.

“Let’s just look,” Oliver says, and by the way he says it, she knows he feels just as overwhelmed as she does.

So for the next ten minutes, they just walk up and down each aisle silently, taking it all in. There are three options of everything. In five different colors. For all ages.

It’s a lot.

Every so often, she picks something up to examine it closely, or touch the material of a blanket, or spin the wheel of a stroller, but always ends up putting it back.

Oliver, on the other hand, slowly starts adding things to their cart one by one.

“What are you looking at?” she asks, after noticing him nonchalantly glance at his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.

Looking caught, he reaches up to rub his jaw, cheeks reddening a little. “I asked Dig for a must-have list.”

Her heart flips. “You did?”

Clearing his throat, he shrugs. “Yeah. I figured we didn’t need everything tonight, but only a few necessary items. So I asked him what we should buy to get through the next few days.”

Standing there—in the overwhelming Target aisle, with a country station playing through the speakers and employees laughing a few aisles over as they restock—she falls in love with Oliver Queen all over again.

She looks down in their cart and finally registers what he’s chosen: some soft green blankets, a few fleece footie pajamas, plastic sippy-cups, and a little stuffed bunny.

He notices her staring at the blanket, in particular. “I figured I’d go with green. Because of her name, and...well...you know. Us. It’s our color,” he says, giving her a small smile and wink.

All of the emotions that swell inside her feel too big for her heart. She’s just completely overcome with affection and love for him. So grateful that he chose _her_. And that they’re partners in this.

Stepping into his personal space, she wraps her arms tightly around his middle and pulls herself close to him. His arms automatically lock behind her, and she uses the support to lean back, tilting her head up to look at his face. Is he even real? For once, she’s too lost for words, so she kisses him in a way that she hopes conveys everything she’s feeling.

“Hazel does have a pretty perfect name, huh?” she muses, giving him another kiss as he nods. She presses a few more to his cheek and lips, and then lets out a big breath.

Okay. It’s time for her to be an active participant in this.

“Do you think she’s potty trained?” she wonders aloud, stepping away from him to walk over to the rows of diapers. The display is a little ridiculous—there are no less than thirty options and four brands.

He picks up a pack of Huggies, turning it over as if he’ll find the answer. “I think she’s a little young, right? Twenty months?”

She scrunches her nose, unsure. “I don’t know. What size would she be anyway? They’re sized by weight, not age.”

He looks just as confused. “Man, we have a lot to learn,” he says, chuckling as she throws three different sizes into the cart. It’s all a guess at this point, since they have no idea if she’s small or big for her age.

They have no idea about a lot of things.

“I guess we should get some of these just in case, too,” Felicity says, throwing a 3-pack of absurdly tiny underwear into the cart. “She could be advanced for her age. We do share genes, you know.”

At the sound of his laughter, she feels some more anxiety ease of out her shoulders.

Dig had told him that they really only need basic clothes, a few toys, and a place for her to sleep. Beyond that, everything else is extra.

They decide against a crib for now, since they both figure she’ll want to be close to them at night for a little while, and also skip the stroller until they can do a bit more research. They do pick up a hands-free child carrier, one that looks big enough to hold a toddler, to tie them over, though. And Lyla had—bless her—texted and said she would drop off some toddler-friendly meals, so they’re set with food. The only thing left on the list is clothes. And _that_ , she could definitely do.

Going through the experience of picking outfits for Hazel is something she’ll never forget. It’s essentially an explosion of color and graphic prints, and they both end up wordlessly reaching for the more neutral, plain outfits that they can find on the shelves.

Oliver is endearingly choosy—he feels every fabric before deciding if it’s soft enough and has major feelings towards the color scheme (“Why must everything be pink or purple?”), but it’s the last thing he picks up that is definitely her favorite. It’s a light gray t-shirt with _Future Scientist_ written across the front, with a blue rocket ship below it. “I found it in the boy’s section,” he says, looking adorably put out for a moment by the gender-specific clothing, before looking back down at it with a smile. “But totally perfect for your kid. Our kid.”

It looks _impossibly_ small in his hands, but she can barely focus on that when she’s still stuck on what he’s just said. Hazel may be her sister, but she is still so, _so_ young. It is a devastating thought for such a little girl, but they will likely be the only parents she knows or remembers. So she’s _their kid._

“Our kid,” she repeats in wonder, out loud this time. “Oh my gosh.”

“Deep breaths,” he reminds her again, leading her towards the check-out area.

One step at a time.

.

.

“Are you scared?” she asks through the darkness.

It’s after two, and though they’ve been in bed since midnight, neither of them are asleep. He’s been rustling beside her for hours, just like she’s been.

“Absolutely terrified.”

They both laugh at that. “Good. Me too,” she whispers. It’s quiet for another minute, before she breaks it again. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

She feels him turn over beside her. “Hey,” he says softly, voice beckoning her to face him. There’s just enough moonlight coming through the windows for her to see him, and the way he’s looking at her makes her eyes well up.

“It’s just… I know this is a lot, and I’m sorry if I pressured you into saying yes so quickly today. I mean, we’re not even married and... _yeah_ , we’ve talked about kids, but not for awhile and I just—”

“Felicity.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to do something with you, ok?”

“Ok.”

He smooths his hand down her waist. “Do you promise to love and protect this little girl?”

Not expecting the question, tears well up again. “Yes,” she whispers.

“Now ask me.”

“Do you promise to love and protect this little girl?”

Voice sincere, he answers, “Yes, I do,” then thumbs away the tears falling down her cheeks. “And do you promise to try your hardest every day, learning how to parent Hazel?”

Fear swells inside her again. “I don’t know how to be a parent.”

He pinches her waist gently, in the spot where he knows she’s ticklish. “That’s why I said _try,_ ” he laughs, leaning over to kiss her cheek a few times.

“Yes, I promise to try.”

“Good. Me too. Because I don’t know how the hell to be a parent either,” he laughs. He thinks for another moment. “Hmm...do you promise to ask for help when you need it and take a breather when you’re feeling overwhelmed?”

“Yes, I do.” She runs her hands down his chest. “And do you promise to let me know when it’s too much for you?”

He shakes his head. “Hey, that wasn’t the question. We’re both in this together, okay? No take backs. I’m in this just as much as you are, alright?”

She nods. “Okay, but if you need help or need a break, just tell me, okay Oliver?”

“I will,” he promises.

Closing the distance between them, she kisses him soundly. “And do you promise we’ll still make time for date nights? And sex? Even though we’ll probably be really tired.”

Huffing out a laugh, he rolls them over and captures her lips again, tasting her thoroughly, before skimming the slope of her neck with his lips. “That, I can _definitely_ promise."

“Good. Me too,” she sighs, tugging off his shirt, and canting her hips towards his with intent. He groans at the feeling, dropping his head down into the crook of her neck. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you, too,” he repeats back, mouthing the words into her skin reverently, as if carving a vow into stone. Before he pushes into her, she presses a hand to his chest to stop him.

“Hey,” she says, and he looks down at her in question. Her hands frame his cheeks tenderly, and she uses her thumbs to map the beautiful lines of his face. “There isn’t anyone else I’d want to do this with, ok?”

Instead of replying, he just leans down and kisses her, more slowly and deeply than ever before, and it gives her answer enough.

.

.

A knock wakes him.

With a quick glance at the clock, Oliver’s surprised to see it’s just past nine—later than they’ve both slept in awhile. He feels oddly, unusually rested, and tugs Felicity closer to savor the feeling.

At the sound of the door again, Felicity grumbles sleepily beside him, but doesn’t wake, so he sighs as he slips from bed. Pulling on the pair of sweatpants he grabs from the floor, he heads to the entry, barely paying mind to his lack of shirt. He regrets the decision when he opens the door.

Standing in front of him is Linda, who’s holding a little girl, no older than two.

The entire night before comes rushing back.

“Mr. Queen,” the woman greets, looking him over in surprise. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

.

.

.

tbc

 


End file.
